


You Do Not Have to Be Good

by witchy_woman



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Academy student, Eventual Smut, F/F, Teacher-Student Relationship, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 19:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18723871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchy_woman/pseuds/witchy_woman
Summary: A young Sapphic witch (the reader) with a lot of feelings and something to prove finds herself drawn into a tryst with her high Priestess/Academy Headmistress and the Queen of Hell herself (eventually loll)





	You Do Not Have to Be Good

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a lot as a teen but have fallen out of the habit in my old age (my 20’s) and have *never* written fic so please give me feedback about what you would like to see or how you would like the pacing to go. It’ll be a little slow at first while I get the characterization right but my idea is to have a chapter per line/phrase of Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese,” which will be in the title. It’ll get smutty eventually as the reader/protagonist evolves.

_“You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”_ The opening lines of my favorite poem echoes in my head as I squint at my assigned readings in bed at the Academy by candlelight. I had awoken well before dawn to study but the first rays of morn now threatened to caress the hilltops, much sooner than I would have liked. “Oh Heaven and damnation,” I whisper to myself, noticing the time.

Being raised by mortals certainly had its advantages, one of my favorites being my adoptive mother’s love of poetry, Mary Oliver’s tome tucked under my pillowcase for fear of ridicule by the Weird Sisters upon its discovery. Harrowings may no longer be a part of Academy tradition but the traumatic events of the last year had done little to quench the senior girls’ love of ridicule and mockery, especially of those few students with connections to the mortal world.

 _“You do not have to be good”_ rattled once more in my sleep-deprived brain. I certainly feel like I do, I feel like I have something to prove that the others don’t. I have to work harder and be 10X better if I want to earn their respect. And gaining the praise of the Headmistress, who lectures our Intro to the Church of Lilith course, certainly never hurts. I freeze thinking of the day before when a correct answer earned me a wicked grin and a “That’s a good girl,” before she turned to lean against the board and finish what she was writing. I had allowed my eyes to linger on her hips then, her long fingers as she managed to balance both her cigarette holder and a piece of chalk, her hair that shown under the candlelight of the characteristically poorly-lit lecture hall. I felt a flush of red heat come to my cheeks and hoped my peers and Prudence, our teaching assistant for the course, hadn’t noticed.

“Oh Lilith damn it all,” I said aloud, realizing my dumb gay brain had allowed me to zone out longer than I anticipated. I leapt out of bed, ran a comb through my hair, and threw on my favorite outfit.  I had Mother Spellman’s class first thing – _“Daddy Spellman,”_ I laughed to myself at the nickname we had all given her, that I uh definitely was not the one who instigated – and wanted to impress her, as silly as the ability to do so would seem.

I rush to my seat in the lecture hall (2nd row from front in the center so as not to seem *too* desperate), joining my more punctual yet always chill and level-headed friend Fiona who rolled her eyes at me, pointing at the “extra-ness” of my chosen outfit. She leans and whispers, “I see your teacher kink is out in full force today.” FiFi earns an eye roll from me in return, though I stop short as my breath hitches as Zelda (we’re on a first-name basis in my head) all but floats into the lecture hall. Her outfit of the day has a low-cut sweetheart neckline and as she sets her teaching materials on her desk with a thud, her ample breasts do a, uhhh, little jiggle that sets my brain alight. _“I’m going to Hell,”_ I think to myself, a carry-over from my mortal upbringing in the False Church, then chuckle to myself remembering that Hell is now ruled by a mega babe so there are certainly worse places to go. Our Queen Lilith occasionally makes an appearance at the Academy for town hall meetings (Praise be!) but mostly communicates via Mother Spellman, who always seems to be in a tremendously good mood after their tribunals. I’ve always enjoyed imagining why, nearly as much as I enjoy the inevitable good mood Zelda is in on those days, her cheeks tinted a bit pinker and her dresses a lot tighter.

Class comes to an end sooner than I liked – “Fuckin’ nerd,” Fiona whispers at my downtrodden look – and I begin to gather my things.  Mother Spellman turns in my direction and gestures with two fingers for me to approach her desk.  I look around, unsure why she would need to talk to me – _“Am I in trouble??”_ I wonder – and she raises her eyebrows impatiently, pursing her lips.  The rest of the class leaves and Fiona runs out of the room, making kissing faces I hope the Headmistress doesn’t see, as I approach her.  Sensing my trepidation, her features soften and she says, “You aren’t in trouble,” flicking her cigarette. _Fuck me, those fingers._

“You did marvelously well on your last essay, top of the class in fact, and I thought you deserved a bit of a reward. I have a project I’ve been working on and was hoping you would like to assist me.”

“Oh, Lilith-be-praised, it would be an honor Dadd- uhhh- Mother Spellman, thank you!” I said, suddenly wishing I would drop dead, that she hadn’t notice, that I wasn’t a messy gay disaster.

She raises a single eyebrow indicating that she had indeed noticed, the corner of her mouth twitching up into one of her characteristically wicked smiles. I no longer wanted to die, I was dyyyying. _Strangle me, Daddy Spellman._

She takes two slow steps forward, closing the distance between us, and chuckles softly. She reaches out and gently brushes a piece of wayward hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. “I’ll see you in my office this evening then,” she says as she turned to leave, hips swaying a bit more than necessary, which I pray to Lilith is for my benefit.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this chapter is short-ish but I just started today and would love lots of feedback before I continue. Next chapter, "You Do Not Have to Walk on Your Knees," will involve Madam Spellman and some kneeling. lol Please leave comments!!


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